


Free Of Charge

by raregloves



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Can be read as asexual Sherlock, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fingerfucking, Inexperienced Sherlock, M/M, Primary relationship is Mycroft/John, Roughness, Sexual Coercion, Sibling Incest, this is pretty dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 16:19:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1989573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raregloves/pseuds/raregloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Sherlock has to do is say yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free Of Charge

**Author's Note:**

> Could I please put in a request for some Mycroft/John/Sherlock dubcon where Sherlock is the one who needs to be convinced/coerced into the situation? There are numerous fics around where John is the naive or initially reluctant party and a few with Mycroft, but don't recall seeing one before where they both team up to persuade Sherlock to join them. It'd be lovely to see it that way for a change. And thank you for your kind services to rarepairs!

At first the warning signs had been so subtle that Sherlock had hardly noticed them. Mycroft lingering outside 221B to talk to John wasn’t unusual, after all. They always talked about him, about his danger nights, about his experiments and cases. The idea that John (of all people) would have anything in common with Mycroft (of all people!) seemed laughable.  
  
Laughable! Sherlock had rarely been so wrong.  
  
Even when those doorstep conversations lingered (ten, twenty minutes) Sherlock didn’t become suspicious. No. It wasn’t until he retuned from Barts to the sight of Mycroft leaving 221B that he began to suspect.  
  
‘My brother was just here, wasn’t he?’ Sherlock said, slamming the door to the flat open. ‘And he didn’t wait to annoy me.’  
  
‘Not everything exists purely to annoy you,’ John said, unperturbed. He was eating a biscuit. ‘He came to chat.’  
  
‘My brother doesn’t chat.’  
  
‘Well, I’d say that’s where you wrong. We chat quite often.’  
  
He was not wrong, Sherlock knew, not about Mycroft. His brother was (though he hated to admit it) the only living person smarter than himself. If Sherlock hated chatting, which he did, then Mycroft would loathe it with the heat of a thousand suns.  
  
‘Thinly veiled attempt at manipulation,’ Sherlock decided. ‘Disappointed you didn’t notice, John. Really.’  
  
‘It’s a thinly veiled attempt, I’ll give you that,’ John said, sounding amused.   
  
This comment didn’t make much sense to Sherlock, but he had no desire to admit that to John, so he ignored it. Like so many minor annoyances in life, it would no doubt go away if ignored.

  
  
~

  
  
It did not go away. If anything, the situation seemed to worsen. John was now texting Mycroft at regular intervals. He would look at his phone and laugh! Mycroft had never been funny a day in his life.  
  
Sherlock stole Johns phone, determined to understand what was really happened. To his deep shock, however, he was unable to deduce Johns password. This had never happened in those peaceful, pre-Mycroftian-friendship days.  
  
‘I can’t guess your phone password,’ Sherlock said to John, the moment John came back from work. ‘Why can’t I guess it? I always guess it.’  
  
‘You won’t guess this one.’  
  
‘Why not? What’ve you done?’  
  
John just smiled mysteriously.

  
  
~

  
  
Not a week later John was dressed for a date. And it wasn’t just any date, either- he was wearing his more expensive suit, his better cologne. Sherlock sniffed him suspiciously as he did up his shoelaces.  
  
‘This isn’t how you dress for a typical date,’ he accused. ‘You wouldn’t go somewhere fancy for a first date, so they must’ve suggested the venue. But what woman would’ve asked you on a first date somewhere fancy? No woman I can think of. Not that you know, anyway,’  
  
‘Thanks for that,’ John said, exasperated but not angry. ‘Good thing you don’t give life advice, Sherlock, you’d be shit at it.’  
  
‘Why even bother?’ Sherlock demanded. ‘You know it won’t last. You know I’ll scare her off.’  
  
Something darkly amused flashed in Johns eyes, so quickly Sherlock was unable to properly document it.

 

~

 

John stayed overnight on that date, which was unusual, too. He often didn’t manage to get a leg over on the first date. Sherlock studiously ignored his cheery mood in the few days afterwards: whistling, no nightmares, smiling at nothing like a fool.  
  
‘You should cheer up, Sherlock,’ John said, reading the newspaper as Sherlock moaned on the couch, desperate for a case.   
  
‘I should cheer up because you got to stick your dick in somebody?’ Sherlock said. ‘I don’t see how that impacts my mood. Or my lack of case. Or any aspect of my life, thankfully.’  
  
‘Well,’ John said, not looking up, ‘I’ll be going on another date tonight. I was thinking I might bring them back here.’  
  
‘Back here? That’s rather fast for you. Normally you try and keep them as far from my corrupting influence as possible.’  
  
‘Well, I think this one’s different.’  
  
Sherlock examined Johns face. He seemed relaxed, confident, and perhaps slightly amused. There was no tensing around the eyes, no clenching of fists or stiff shoulders.   
  
‘What if we have a case?’ Sherlock demanded. ‘What then?’  
  
‘They can help,’ John said. ‘You know, I think they’d give you a run for your money.’  
  
Hah! Sherlock snorted, but John didn’t seem to be speaking sarcastically. Was he so besotted already that he was imagining his beloved to be a match for him, Sherlock? How amusing. How sad.  
  
‘I look forward to meeting her, then,’ Sherlock said, nastily.  
  
‘It’s not a her.’  
  
‘What?’  
  
Now this was interesting. John was perhaps a little pink at the top of his ears, but otherwise didn’t seem very embarrassed. And he refused to elaborate, which was typical.  
  
‘What happened to John I’m not gay Watson?’  
  
‘I’m still not gay, you ponce,’ John said. ‘Bisexual, Sherlock, bisexual. Look it up if you need to.’  
  
He smiled, his teeth rather pointy. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, that smile, as his smiles usually did. Sherlock frowned.  
  
‘I know what bisexuality is,’ he said. ‘You failed to mention.’  
  
‘You make assumptions,’ John said. ‘You did with Harry, too, first time we met. That’s your big mistake. Assuming things about people.’  
  
‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

 

~

 

Despite his better judgment, however, Sherlock was curious. What sort of man would interest John the bisexual Watson? A fairly rich one, and clearly not a total imbecile if John thought they could challenge Sherlock intellectually.  
  
Tall? Short? Military? It would be horribly awkward, Sherlock thought, if this man looked just like him.  
  
He walked about the flat, picking up books and putting them down again. John had never fucked anybody in the flat while Sherlock was home. What if he was horribly loud? Would playing the violin to drown them out be rude?  
  
This, Sherlock reflected, was why he didn’t bother with people. Complicated, messy, awful business.  
  
He wrapped himself up in his dressing down and relaxed on the lounge. Just a little rest…

 

~

 

Sherlock woke to the sound of footsteps. So John was home, as promised, with the man in question. Sherlock rubbed sleep from his eyes, frowning. There was something oddly familiar-  
  
John and Mycroft walked in, hand in hand. Sherlock felt something in his stomach rise up into his throat.  
  
‘Ah, brother dear,’ Mycroft said. ‘John said you’d be home.’  
  
‘You- you and- I don’t-’  
  
Sherlock realized he wasn’t making any sense, so he stopped talking. John seemed to be suppressing laughter and Mycroft had never looked so smug in his life.  
  
‘I said he’d be smart enough for you, Sherlock,’ John said.   
  
‘For me,’ Sherlock spat. ‘This is…’  
  
‘Yes?’ Mycroft was beaming at him. So was John.  
  
‘Shocking,’ Sherlock decided. ‘Repulsive.’  
  
‘Hmmm,’ John said, mock-thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think you fully appreciate the situation, actually. Let us elaborate.’  
  
He stood on tip-toe and kissed Mycroft, right in the living room, their mouths obviously open and wet even from a distance. Mycroft was enthusiastic, putting his hateful, pale hand on the side of Johns neck.   
  
Sherlock stood up, stumbling slightly, and shoved past them both. They parted with a wet sound that made the hair on Sherlocks arms stand up, almost as if in protest. Their laughter followed him out of 221B.

  
  
~

 

‘That was immature of me,’ John said, when Sherlock returned the next day, feeling tired and miserable. He’d been unable to delete the memory, despite his best efforts.  
  
Sherlock didn’t bother replying. John would be sorry for a long, long time.  
  
‘Really, though,’ John said, following him into the kitchen. ‘I thought you had already guessed. What with you trying to get into my phone, and all… But I am sorry. I didn’t meant to upset you.’  
  
‘I’m not upset.’ It seemed important to say that, in case John got the wrong idea. ‘I have no desire to romance you.’  
  
‘Oh, I didn’t mean like that,’ John laughed. ‘You and Mycroft, I mean… I know there isn’t anybody else like the two of you. I’m not going to ruin whatever kind of brotherly thing the two of you have.’  
  
‘We don’t have a brotherly thing,’ Sherlock said, alarmed. ‘What on earth has he been telling you? He is my arch nemesis, John.’  
  
‘Nah,’ John said. ‘He’s told me quite a lot. I know you love him. He told me all about the time when you were fifteen, in the tree house-’  
  
‘Please don’t speak,’ Sherlock snapped. ‘I am very, very unhappy with both of you, and I don’t pretend to understand what is happening.’  
  
John sighed, rested a hand on Sherlocks hip, which made him jump a little. John wasn’t normally so touchy with him. He refused to turn, refused to see whatever expression lingered in Johns eyes: amusement, pity?  
  
‘We’ll explain,’ John said, his voice gentle. ‘Me and him, properly, like adults. We were a bit tipsy before… I was looking forward to your reaction a bit, to be honest. Would you let us explain? Properly?’  
  
He didn’t want John to leave. John was the best and most useful person he knew. And he didn’t want to create a rift within the family, didn’t want to lose the cases and the understanding Mycroft brought.  
  
‘Fine,’ Sherlock said. ‘Fine.’  
  
‘Thanks, Sherlock.’ John sounded relieved. ‘Just think about it, yeah? I’m sure you’ll come around. I’ll organize a time with him.’  
  
‘Here, in 221B,’ Sherlock said, ‘I don’t want to air this dirty laundry in public, thanks.’  
  
‘Fine,’ John said. ‘It’ll all be fine.’

 

~

 

 _Think about it, yeah? I’m sure you’ll come around._  

Sherlock thought about it. Sherlock found it impossible not to think about, actually. The memory had refused deletion, and was now playing in a loop inside his mind, almost constantly.  
  
The wet sound of them kissing. Mycrofts pale hand resting on Johns neck. Sherlock didn’t know what to feel. He had assumed that both he and Mycroft were beyond such carnal urges. And he had assumed that if John was to pick a Holmes, he wouldn’t have picked Mycroft…

Assumptions. John and warned him against assumptions. What else didn’t he know about the two of them, then?  
  
He tried to keep his mind from the reality of them having fucked. He didn’t want to picture his brothers fleshy, pale arse or Johns sweaty orgasm. Even so, the thoughts intruded. Curse them both.

 

~

 

The meeting occurred about a two weeks later. John set out wine as well as food and didn’t bother to put on shoes. He insisted that Sherlock get dressed, despite the fact that Sherlock wasn’t leaving the house.  
  
So Sherlock dressed, still internally cursing them both. He was expecting some extreme groveling. Maybe even a few interesting cases, no strings attached, from Mycroft.  
  
His brother arrived, looking entirely comfortable and overdressed. He kissed John and smiled at Sherlock, as if nothing was amiss.  
  
Sherlock pushed his pasta around his plate in stony silence as they ate, chatting dully about work, news, Sherlock…   
  
‘I was expecting apologies,’ Sherlock said eventually. ‘I was expecting a proper apology and some explanations, frankly. If I wanted to listen to dull small talk I would’ve gone to the pub around the corner.’  
  
‘You hate pubs,’ John pointed out. ‘And we do have some things to say to you, actually.’  
  
He smiled. It was the smile Sherlock didn’t recognize, the one he didn’t mean.   
  
‘Spit it out then,’ he said.   
  
‘Manners, Sherlock,’ Mycroft said. ‘I have three cases for you. Free of charge. All exactly the type you enjoy. One person sliced clean in half, a locked room, a missing fish tank containing a very rare fish…’  
  
‘But?’ Sherlock demanded, trying not to betray just how desperately interested he was. ‘But, Mycroft? Because I know there’s no such thing as free of charge with you. So what do you want?’  
  
‘I want you to say yes,’ Mycroft said simply, ‘to what John is about to suggest.’  
  
Sherlock turned to John, whose unrecognizable expression was making him increasingly uncomfortable. What on earth did John want? He had never felt so at sea before. This, Sherlock thought, was probably how normal people felt all the time.  
  
‘I want a threesome,’ John said simply. ‘You, me and Mycroft. One night only. You get the cases, we never have to talk about it again if you don’t want to.’  
  
Sherlock knew he was gaping and, frankly, didn’t care. If ever there was a situation in which gaping was justified then this was it. John didn’t seem embarrassed by his request. He didn’t seem to feel that he was asking anything unreasonable.  
  
So he turned to Mycroft, hoping to find his shock and disgust reflected in the face of his brother. But Mycroft was smiling at him, his expression both amused and slightly calculating.  
  
‘I don’t want to-’  
  
‘The fish was inside a large tank, and couldn’t be removed without risking its life. Therefore someone, somehow, worked out how to make an entire fish tank vanish in central London with no witnesses at all.’  
  
Sherlock glared at Mycroft, even as his brain started playing with the possibilities.   
  
‘Even so,’ he said eventually, ‘we’re bothers, I can’t-’  
  
‘Sliced clean in half,’ Mycroft interrupted, smiling gently. ‘In his own flat, which was locked from the inside. No sign of a weapon.’  
  
Fuck.  
  
Sherlock looked at the two of them, at the near-identical expressions of lust on their faces. They both wanted him. It would just be once, after all. He would get his cases. They would probably end up feeling guilty… they would be willing to do him favors out of guilt, perhaps…  
  
‘Fine,’ Sherlock said. ‘Fine. You win. But you’ll owe me. I wan-’  
  
John cut him off, leaning over the table to kiss him. His lips were thin and rather dry, but warm. Sherlock wasn’t sure if he should close his eyes or not. He felt Johns tongue press against his bottom lip.   
  
He opened his mouth, letting John in. The texture of another persons tongue wasn’t too unpleasant. He mimicked the actions John made.  
  
‘I knew you’d come around,’ John said, pulling away. ‘Come on. My room has the bigger bed.’  
  
‘R-right now?’ Sherlock asked, slightly alarmed. ‘Really?’  
  
‘Really,’ Mycroft said. ‘Can’t have you reconsidering, can we?’  
  
They manhandled him upstairs, Johns hands running over his chest, Mycrofts resting on his hips. Sherlock focused on the cases. They were no doubt extremely complex, if they were being used to bribe him into something like this…  
  
‘Look at you,’ John said, sliding his hands under Sherlocks shirt. ‘Just look at hime…’  
  
‘I am,’ Mycroft said.   
  
Johns bed was ready for them. Condoms and lube sat in easy each on his bedside table. Sherlock felt his stomach flutter. It had been a long time since he’d been this nervous.   
  
Mycroft undressed. Sherlock didn’t watch, too distracted by the way John was undressing him. His shirt was removed, his belt yanked out. The fact that he wasn’t hard didn’t seem to bother John.  
  
‘Look at you,’ John said again. He pushed Sherlock backwards until he fell onto the bed. ‘Lovely.’  
  
John bit his nipples, making Sherlock gasp. He was able to see over Johns head now. In the corner of the room Mycroft was pulling his socks off, watching them. He was hard. Sherlock felt a shiver of something that might have been fear. John mistook it for arousal, and bit harder.  
  
‘You’re overdressed,’ Mycroft said, joining them on the bed. ‘Can’t have that.’  
  
John sat back, pulling on his jumper. Meanwhile Mycroft put a finger under Sherlocks chin, turning his face until they were nose to nose. His eyes were dark with arousal, but still bright with an unfathomable intelligence.  
  
‘It’ll be ok,’ Mycroft said. ‘If you let yourself, you might even enjoy parts of it.’  
  
Sherlock swallowed. Mycroft kissed him. He was slower than John, gentler, his lips softer and his tongue less predictable. Sherlock closed his eyes without meaning to, leaning into the contact. He hadn’t realized kissing could be quite so enjoyable.  
  
The bed wobbled as John pulled of his trousers and tossed them aside. They were all more or less naked now, Sherlocks trousers and pants around his knees, stopping him from parting his legs properly.  
  
‘God that’s hot,’ John said, his voice rough.   
  
Sherlock felt Mycroft smile into the kiss.   
  
Hands, now, on his chest. Johns, small and calloused, Mycrofts, large but soft. They toyed with his nipples, brushed over his still flaccid cock, lingered around his neck. John rolled his balls in his hands, as if weighing them.  
  
‘What do you want me to do?’ Sherlock gasped, pulling away from his brother. ‘I’ll do it, just…’  
  
He didn’t want to say hurry up, so he let the sentence unfinished.  
  
John and Mycroft exchanged a swift look. Clearly, they had a plan, which Sherlock found oddly comforting. If they had been improvising he might’ve felt more pressure to suggest something.  
  
‘My fingers, here,’ John said, sliding his hand to rest against the crease of Sherlocks arse. ‘And Mycrofts cock, here.’ His other hand traced Sherlocks lips.  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes, swallowed, feeling them watching him. Would they listen, if he changed his mind now? He nodded, lips pressed tightly together.   
  
They moved away from him. He heard the crinkle of a condom being opened and the cap of a bottle of lube being popped open. Inhale, exhale. John was a doctor, John wouldn’t hurt him. Mycroft wouldn’t suffocate him. As long as he was relaxed it would be fine.  
  
Sherlock wriggled his legs, letting his trousers and pants come loose and fall to the floor. He spread his legs, feeling ridiculous and self-conscious. But he heard John inhale sharply, so it had been the right decision. He opened his eyes.  
  
John was moving to crouch between his spread thighs. Sherlock was glad to see how slick his fingers were. But his attention shifted swiftly towards Mycroft, whose latex-covered cock was bobbing close and closer towards him. The triangular thicket of pubic hair was reddish brown.  
  
Sherlock opened his mouth. It felt obscene, opening his mouth wide, as if he was about to eat something. He wished there was a subtler way of doing it. He wished John had turned off the lights.  
  
Johns wet finger breached him at the same moment that the head of Mycrofts cock slipped past his lips. Sherlocks hips twitched. The intrusion felt strange, the lube cold. But it was hard to focus. The heat and taste of Mycrofts cock was distracting him.   
  
‘That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,’ John said softly. His finger slid all the way in and Sherlock jumped, feeling the slight bumps of Johns knuckles as he slid in. And by jumping, he had moved his head, making Mycroft sigh above him.  
  
Struck by an idea, Sherlock extended his tongue, pressing it to the underside of Mycrofts cock. It twitched inside his mouth (fascinating) and Mycroft lowered himself, clearly encouraged. Inch by inch slid into Sherlocks mouth, past his teeth, heavy against his tongue. An image flashed through his mind: his throat being slowly filled, stuffed full, until he couldn’t breathe.  
  
Johns finger was curling slightly inside of him, spreading the lube. It was like having a sore muscle stretched out. Not unpleasant, exactly, but odd. Highly invasive.   
  
‘Relax,’ John said. ‘You look amazing. All spread out for us.’  
  
He added a second finger. Sherlock cried out a little, unprepared for the stretch. Mycroft moaned as his voice sent vibrations through his cock. He sank deeper again and Sherlock felt himself begin to gag. At once he forgot all about John, too focused on repressing the reflex to vomit and cry. He absolutely would not vomit or cry now.  
  
His throat seemed to relax, expand. Tears welled in his eyes but Sherlock did not let them fall. Johns fingers were stretching him open, widening him, exposing internal parts of him to the open air, and he could feel the head of Mycrofts cock inside of his throat.  
  
God, but the reality of it- of having his brother lowering himself, so slowly, into his open mouth, while John was opening him-  
  
Sherlock took a huge breath, careful not to gag. Mycroft slid in again as he exhaled. His public hair was so close now that Sherlock had to go cross eyed to keep in in sight.  
  
‘Third finger,’ John warned him. ‘Then we’re going to amp things up a little.’  
  
Amp things up a little? Sherlock made a confused noise around Mycrofts stifling cock, but his sound of confusion turned to one of shock as a third finger pushed inside. He felt full, now, too full. A bit like he needed the toilet. John wiggled and shifted his fingers. Sherlock had never felt anything like it, the feeling of multiple fingers shifting inside of him.  
  
‘We’re going to move, now,’ John said, his voice soothing. ‘Breathe through your nose. It’s ok to make noise, if you need to.’  
  
Sherlock couldn’t nod, so he gave a quick thumbs up, which made Mycroft chuckle. Sherlock had to strain to see his brothers face from this position, but he seemed flushed, as if only just holding himself back.  
  
John began to move in and out of him, pulling nearly all the way out before moving back in. He moved with firmness, with unhesitating movements, unworried about hurting him. Meanwhile Mycroft pulled away a little before sinking in deeper.  
  
Sherlock focused on getting enough air. Inhale, exhale, it was important to have enough air to make it through. Mycroft moved fasted, went deeper, with each movement of his hips. John was starting to brush against Shelrocks prostate, making his toes curl. It was as if John was setting off sparklers inside his legs.   
  
Mycroft was panting. John was starting to swear, his fingers pushed deeper and deeper, as if trying to find something lost deep within him. Sherlock could feel droll running down his chin, down his neck, gathering at the base of his throat. His mouth was so full, his throat felt raw and used, and Mycroft was saying his name now, over and over-  
  
John added a forth finger and Sherlock cried out, only to be entirely gagged as Mycroft started to come. All pretense vanished. He fucked Sherlocks throat, making him gag horribly. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the burn of four fingers inside his arse and Mycrofts cock suffocating him. He felt a single, hot tear escape the corner of his eye.  
  
Then Mycroft began to soften. Sherlock could hear himself breathing. He sounded raspy, worse than he had after he’d been strangled during The Blind Banker case.   
  
Case! Yes, he remembered now, that was why he was here in the first place, the cases, he was going to have such brilliant cases after this… Mycroft tied the condom and threw it towards the bin. Johns fingers had slowed.  
  
‘Are you ok?’  
  
Mycrofts worried face hovered above his own. Sherlock managed an awkward shrug. He wanted to wipe his mouth and chin, but thought that might be rude. Mycroft kissed him, gently again. One of his hands ran through Sherlocks curls. It was a gentle, soothing gesture. Sherlock felt himself relax, and returned the kiss as best he knew how.  
  
‘You did wonderfully,’ Mycroft said. ‘All you have to do now as watch.’  
  
John slid all his fingers from Sherlocks arse. Sherlock hissed at the strangeness of the sensation, but was glad to have them gone. He felt as if his arse had been opened to the air, and he didn’t like it. John was still hard. Mycroft was lubing up his fingers and sliding them between his own cheeks. Suddenly Sherlock realized what he would be watching.  
  
Mycroft climbed onto his hands and knees. His eyes were fixed on Sherlock. Sherlock couldn’t see Johns cock press inside of him, but when it happened, from the way Mycrofts face changed. John was not gentle. His hips snapped forwards with a slapping sound. Mycrofts mouth was a wide, as if surprised.  
  
The case… Think about the case. The fish tank. What type of rare fish? The bed was shaking. Think about the case. Cases. Mycroft hadn’t even told him about the third one. A body in a locked flat, no weapon… it was brilliant. Brilliant cases. It was worth it, Sherlock thought, for the cases.

**Author's Note:**

> You can send me a prompt on my tumblr- I love rare pair fic :)
> 
> raregloves.tumblr.com


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